


I Don't Need a Future, I Don't Need Your Past

by sevenlostkeys



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Audio 05.01: The Bekdel Test, Emotional Baggage, Episode: The Day of the Doctor, Episode: s09e11 Heaven Sent, Episode: s09e12 Hell Bent, Episode: s10e08 The Lie of the Land, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Tea, Unresolved Emotional Tension, so much tension, tea time in the vault, these two time idiots, twissy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27778021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenlostkeys/pseuds/sevenlostkeys
Summary: The longer Missy stayed in the vault, the safer the universe was. It also gave them a tangible line in the sand for one another.It didn’t help that the Twelfth Doctor kept crossing it.
Relationships: The Doctor/Missy (Doctor Who), Twelfth Doctor/Missy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	1. Oolong and Unexpected Exits

The Twelfth Doctor didn’t want to lock up his best friend. It started simply enough, with good intentions. The longer Missy stayed in the vault, the safer the universe was. It also gave them a tangible line in the sand for one another. 

It didn’t help that he kept crossing it. 

At first, it was the random check in now and again between trips off the university campus with Bill. He’d poke his head in to get a snarl or scream. Missy was like an abused animal in that way, a dangerous combination of bite and bark, nursing scars that should have healed long ago. 

Over time, she softened, by degrees. He’d bring the odd gift or scraps of research, tidbits from journeys. She’d listen, sometimes interjecting. Other times, she seemed far away, lost in her own inner world. As long as they’d known one another -- multiple lifetimes -- they still had their secrets and regrets. 

Now they had a monthly tea time set aside on their calendars. She baked the biscuits, and he brought a selection of teas from his travels. 

Today, the Twelfth Doctor was running behind, fingers moving lightning quick over the keypad. 

“You’re late,” Missy called.

“Early, by some time zones.” 

“Hang your coat by the door.” 

He did and rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. _Is this what normal people do when they get home after a long day of doing whatever they do?_ He wondered.

“I developed the most luxurious recipe for lemon shortbread,” she said warmly, rolling a small tea trolley full of china towards a couple of worn in armchairs. 

“I thought Darjeeling might do, but I found a new blend last trip to the shops,” he said, handing over a small tin of loose tea. “It’s oolong with vanilla, caramel, and a hint of bergamot.”

“‘The shops?’ Are you turning properly human now, not just on your mother’s side?” 

“I’m trying to blend in more.” 

“I’m not sure you’ll ever do that, my dear.” 

The Doctor settled into his usual spot while Missy fetched a kettle of hot water. He wondered how far they’d get before things went sideways.

She returned promptly, swirling a bit of water in the china teapot before measuring out four level tablespoons of tea. She always made it too strong for his liking, but she never chastised him for using six lumps of sugar a cup, so he let it go. 

“I hope you’ve been keeping busy,” he offered. 

“Oh you know, planning my imminent escape and world domination, the usual,” she deadpanned as she poured the tea. “You’ll pay dearly for locking me up in here.” 

“I already have.” His voice went gravely. 

“Oh, but you can still have adventures with your little pets. By my rough calculation, you’ve just sent your precious wife off to her death.” 

“Missy, don’t.” He could feel his anger rising. 

“Don’t fret, we’re acquainted,” Missy said, nonchalant and nibbling on a piece of shortbread. “I just had to make sure she understood that killing you is my job, not hers. Too bad you’ll be the actual death of her.” 

The tea turned sharply tannic on his tongue. He swallowed, emotions simmering right beneath the surface. 

“You’ll not mention her again,” he warned. 

“How was it, being stuck somewhere for a couple of decades? Must have been torture,” she mused, sipping her tea. She knew where all his sore spots were. Pity he had so many. It was almost too easy.

He gently put his teacup and saucer back on the trolley, almost like he hadn’t heard her. He was counting backward from one billion. He would not take the bait. At least not the way she wanted. 

“You wouldn’t understand.” 

“Have you gone that pudding brained?” 

“You’ve never let your guard down enough to let someone love you, Missy.” He waited for a beat. “Gods know I’ve tried.” 

He was up and at the door before she knew it, coat tucked under his arm. The familiar pattern of beeps let her know she was locked in and alone again. She didn't realize her hands were still shaking until she'd put the tea things away hours later.


	2. Royal Tea and Echoes of Eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Missy reminisce over stolen tea.

The next time he showed up, he was on time and kept his coat on. All the tea things were already set up but no sign of Missy. 

“Missy, Missy, you’re so fine,” he sang out, his voice echoing through the vault. 

“Ah, glad you came around to your senses,” he heard her call back to him. She approached carrying a small plate of tea sandwiches, her hair in a loose braid over her shoulder. “What have you got for us today then?” Her tone had the slightest edge of annoyance.

“Got stuck at the palace, so I pinched a bit of what the Queen serves at her garden parties,” he explained, producing a small packet of loose tea. “If it’s good enough for the Queen,” he said, doing a mock bow, hoping he’d take it as a gesture of forgiveness for their previous encounter.

“The Windsors, really?” Her voice slipped into a posh accent. “Well, then. Give it here.” 

“There should be enough for at least one pot,” he offered.

“So what were you doing at the palace?” she asked, as she prepared their tea.

“Had to put something back, the usual.”

“Well, it wasn’t me this time,” she said tartly. “Honest. I had to ring that Nardole bloke to fetch me cucumbers for the sandwiches.” 

“I’ll do what I can to update the pantry for you,” he murmured. 

“Either way, someone else is having all the fun.” 

“Your hair, that way, it suits you,” the Doctor said, sipping his tea.

“Well, there’s not much point in putting it up these days,” she said. “Wait, when did you start noticing hair?” 

He shrugged. “My wife? Her hair was full of spoilers,” he joked. 

“You really have gone soft.” 

“It couldn’t be helped,” he said, grabbing a tea sandwich. “I’m sorry about last time.” 

Missy sipped her tea, silent. She would not return the apology. It wasn’t who she was -- or who she had been. No matter what he thought he saw in her, she wasn’t worth this -- this saving. 

“So how long are you going to keep me in here?” she asked, shifting the conversation.

“As long as it takes.”

“And what if I’m a lost cause?” 

“No one’s a lost cause. A woman -- well, a weapon -- taught me that.” 

“The time lords spend billions of years developing highly advanced technological weapons of war and it turns into some Bad Wolf girl to give you a wake-up call? Typical.” 

The Doctor set his teacup and saucer down, shifting in his chair, crossing his left leg over his right. 

“Well then, what have you been up to? Has the piano helped?” he said, nodding toward the center of the room. 

“Very much. I forgot how much I loved playing.” 

“Any favorites?”

“The usual. Satie, Bach, Debussy,” she offered. “Only the classics. I don’t deal with any of that punk rock business about Bela Lugosi’s birthday or death or whatever. You know I can hear you crashing around the TARDIS with that guitar of yours.” 

“Maybe a should go to an open mic night at the pub then,” he said, a bit sheepish. 

“It’s really not like you to be this...domestic,” she sneered. “What changed?”

“When you run to the end of the universe for someone and it all goes wrong, sometimes it’s good to press pause. Plus, I haven’t been called ‘Professor’ in quite a long time and I found I missed it.” 

He’d not said the “someone’s” name, but Missy knew -- it was Clara. She’d bumped into her along the way. It’s hard to miss a diner flying through space. Best not to mention that just now, she thought.

“I’d do anything to be out there, plucking stars from the sky,” Missy said, wistfully. “You remember what we said? That we’d visit them all?” 

“Can’t do that if you keep burning them.” 

“This is who I am, Doctor.” 

“You weren’t always like this, Missy. We just...reacted differently to our upbringings.”

“Even if I could be good, it’s not like you can snap your fingers and make it happen.” 

“I don’t expect you to change overnight. There’s so much pain...and grief you have to sit with first. I know, I’ve been there. We’ve both seen things. But one morning, I do believe you’ll wake and find that you understand me more than you once did.” 

Moments like this, he was the only person who could see her for who she was. It was like they were still children, playing complex games of their own making in the fields of Gallifrey. How she wished she could have been like him, but too many things had happened. 

And it was so obvious how he’d tried to replace her over the years. So many assistants and companions. They always ended running off with some bloke on another planet or worse -- her favorite choice -- dead. Then again, they all died in the end, which meant he’d always come back around to her, whether he liked it or not. 

She knew she was the villain in his story. But that was better than no story at all. 

“Missy?” His whisper brought her back to the present. 

“Maybe...or maybe not. You can never be too sure with me.” She set down her teacup. “Anyhow, it’s no fun if I don’t keep you guessing.” 

The Doctor laughed to himself, shaking his head. 

“What?” 

“You.”

“What _specifically_ about me?” 

“It’s hard to be the hero all the time,” he confessed. “It goes against my inner nature. But once you get comfortable with darkness, it’s hard to untangle yourself. But you...you enjoy it too much.”

She jumped from her chair, kneeling at his side, her palms pressed into his knees. 

“Then let’s forget all this nonsense. Let’s go see the universe like we promised we would. I won’t beg. Just think of what we could do...how good it could be.” 

“And then how many worlds would burn because I wasn’t saving them?” 

“LET THEM, DOCTOR. Just this once, let the whole lot sort themselves out.” 

He held her gaze, searching her face. _That would be the easy way out_ , he thought to himself. He lifted his left hand, his elegant fingers tracing against her cheekbones. She leaned into his touch. It had been months since he’d touched her. _Please, please, please, please_ , her heartbeats drummed out. 

His hand dropped to her shoulder, fingers slipping into her plaited hair, loosening the braid. She was like touching fire and sometimes he didn’t mind getting burned. He had to stop. 

“No. I can’t. You know that.” He pushed her hands away. Instead of standing, he knelt down next to her. He wanted to make it right -- 

She stood up then, straight and towering over him. “Teatime is over. You can see yourself out,” she said tersely. 

He wiped his face with his palm. It still smelt like her, and her hair. Like Gallifreyan incense from the temples, the lavender of the fields. _She smelled like home_. 

“And bring better tea next time,” she called. “Royal tea, pish posh. That’s for peasants.” 

He headed out, never looking back, his hearts in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I threw a few Easter eggs in. Sort of.


	3. Lapsang Souchong and Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy struggles with isolation, but is the Doctor there to hurt or help?

It was nearly tea-time, and the Doctor would be here soon. But Missy was lying on a battered chaise lounge, hair disheveled, blouse unbuttoned at the neck. Her gaze fixed on the virtual fireplace filter the Doctor had installed near her bedroom. Of course, he wouldn’t trust her with real fire. But she missed it, the way the spitting flames died down to dark amethyst-tinged coals, the smell of smoke finer than any perfume. 

He said he was saving her. For what? From who? Because if he was saving her from herself, she was lost long ago. But the Doctor was, too. He just set up his own fail-safes, a mental list of rules that could stretch out across the galaxy. Missy had no use for rules, they were a bit like arrows at a crossroads and she always went the other way. It made things more interesting. Chaos was her specialty. 

But this? This mundane day in and day out? It was tearing her apart from the inside. At first, she’d tried very hard. She’d made schedules, practicing piano and hatching schemes she couldn’t bring to fruition. She’d learned all manner of baking, a bit like all those alchemy classes she’d put off at university. She’d read every book the Doctor had brought her. She’d played this game, day in and day out because she loved him. And she wanted him to see it, once and for all. 

Today she was listless and floating, unable to focus and feel. Nothing seemed to matter, even trying to please him. She’d give anything to fly away -- stolen TARDIS or vortex manipulator would do -- and slip into a crowd of unsuspecting people. Hell, they didn’t even have to be victims anymore. They could live out their silly little lives with jobs, errands, and nights at the pub. She wanted to weave her way through the lot of them, their small talk and laughter echoing against the cobblestones. She desperately wanted to stare up into the night sky and pick which star she’d go to next. 

But all she could do was stare into the fake flames, breaking them down, pixel by pixel until her eyelids felt heavy, and she was melting into the chaise lounge, face wet with warm tears. 

She didn’t even hear the Doctor unlocking the vault door, calling her name, nor his cool palms against her damp skin, his slender arms hoisting her upward and out. 

…

When she woke, she was bundled under a heavy duvet in a four-poster bed. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a figure dozing in an armchair by a roaring fire. She also spotted her clothing drying by the fireplace. Her hands flew up to her torso, her fingers finding she was wearing a fine black satin chemise. 

“Ah, you’re awake.” 

It was him.

“Where am I?” she spat.

“It’s okay, we’re in the TARDIS. When I came for tea, you didn’t answer...you were in a right state…”

“So you thought you’d strip me whilst I was unconscious?”

“Missy, your clothes were soaked and you were unresponsive. I was afraid you were ill…”

“So rather than let me slip into oblivion, you had to bring me back to the brink of this nothingness?” 

Her hearts were ringing in her ears and she felt dizzy. He was by her side then, holding her, fingers running through her inky hair. 

“If there was any other way to do this, don’t you think I’d do that? Do you know how much it hurts me to leave you there, day after day? And to know I have to come back to you and I have no idea what you’ve been through?” 

He tightened his embrace, even though he was also shaking. He wanted his friend back, to see her dazzle and infuriate him to the ends of the universe. Her palms ran over his torso, searching for his hearts at first, then thumbing the buttons of his dress shirt open, one after another, until she could rest her head against his bare chest. 

His hands ghosted over her shoulder blades, fingers tapping a secret code against her spine. 

This couldn’t be real. In her deepest darkest dreams, she’d never imagined herself in his arms like this. His right hand anchored her back while his left hand tipped her face up to meet his. 

“Doctor...” she started.

“Rest now,” he whispered through a clenched jaw. Her vision went blurry and she surrendered to the warmth of his tight embrace, not caring if she ever woke again.

…

The clattering of china and silverware woke her with a start. She was back in the vault as if it had all been a dream.

“Sorry about the noise,” the Doctor managed. “I’m also not very good at the washing up.” 

He handed her a steaming cup of tea. It smelled like bonfires with a hint of whiskey. It had been a long time since she’d had Lapsang Souchong.

“Wait, hold on, are you saying we’ve been here the whole time?” she managed.

“Yes, just here,” he said, turning away from her to add sugar to his tea. “I figured I’d let you sleep.”

He was terrible at lying but she reckoned the lie was easier than the truth -- that was always the way of things with them. 

“Thank you for the cuppa,” she said, regaining her typical composure. “Same time next month?” 

“As always.” 

She downed the rest of her tea in one gulp, wiping the edges of her mouth, excusing herself until she was sure he’d secured the vault, and then she collapsed in bed, exhausted by the games they couldn’t quit playing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooof. This one was heavy. Thanks for reading all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from a dear friend. 
> 
> The title comes from the Miley Cyrus song "Give Me What I Want." 
> 
> I have no idea how many chapters this will be, so settle in with a cuppa, I guess.


End file.
